Atlantic Monthly, Vol. 5, No. 22, June, 1860 by Various

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his own soul with the Devil, in the other the hero plays and wins awife,--and to beg for a chess-story _minus_ wives and devils; but suchgrumblers are worthless baggage, and ought to be checked. The Chess Libraryhas now become an important collection. Time was, when, if one man hadStaunton's "Handbook," Sarratt, Philidor, Walker's "Thousand Games," andLewis on "The Game of Chess," he was regarded as uniting the character of achess-scholar with that of the antiquary. But now we hear of Bledow ofBerlin with eight hundred volumes on chess; and Professor George Allen, ofthe University of Pennsylvania, with more than a thousand! Such aliterature has Chess collected about it since Paolo Boi, "the greatSyracusan," as he was called, wrote what perhaps was the first work onchess, in the middle of the sixteenth century.

But such numbers of works on chess are very rare, and when the reader hearsof an enormous chess library, he may be safe in recalling the story ofWalker, whose friend turned chess author; seven years after, he boasted toWalker of the extent of his chess library, which, he affirmed consisted ofone thousand volumes _minus_ eighteen! It turned out that eighteen copiesof his work had been sold, the rest of the edition remaining on his hands.

Though these old works are like galleries of old and valuable pictures tothe chess enthusiast, they contain very little that is valuable to thegeneral reader. Their terms and signs are to the uninitiated suggestive ofa doctor's prescription. But the anecdotes of the game are, many of them,remarkable; and we believe they are known to have less of the mythicalabout them than those told in other departments. One who knows the gamewill feel that it is sufficiently absorbing to be woven in with thetextures of government, of history, and of biography. It is of the natureof chess gradually to gather up all the senses and faculties of the player,so that for the time being he is an automaton chess-player, to whom lifeand death are abstractions.

How seriously, even religiously, the game has always been regarded by bothChurch and State may be judged by the account given by old Carrera of onewhom we have already named as probably the earliest chess author, as hecertainly is one of the greatest players known to fame. "In the time of ourfathers," says this ancient enthusiast, "we had many famous players, ofwhom _Paolo Boi_, Sicilian, of the city of Syracuse, and commonly calledthe Syracusan, was considered the best. He was born in Syracuse of a richand good family. When a boy, he made considerable progress in literature,for he had a very quick apprehension. He had a wonderful talent for thegame of Chess; and having in a short time beaten all the players of thecity, he resolved to go to Spain, where he heard there were famous players,honored and rewarded not only by noblemen, but also by Philip II., who tookno small delight in the game. He first beat with ease all the players ofSicily, and was very superior in playing without seeing the board; for,playing at once three games blindfold, he conversed with others ondifferent subjects. Before going into Spain, he travelled over all Italy,playing with the best players, amongst others with the Pultino, who was ofequal force; they are therefore called by Salvio the light and glory ofchess. He was the favorite of many Italian Princes, and particularly of theDuke of Urbino, and of several Cardinals, and even of Pope Pius V. himself,who would have given him a considerable benefice, if he would have become aclergyman; but this he declined, that he might follow his owninclinations. He afterward went to Venice, where a circumstance happenedwhich had never occurred before: he played with a person and lost. Havingafterward by himself examined the games with great care, and finding thathe ought to have won, he was astonished that his adversary should havegained contrary to all reason, and suspected that he had used some secretart whereby he was prevented from seeing clearly; and as he was verydevout, and was possessed of a rosary rich with many relics of saints, heresolved to play again with his antagonist, armed not only with the rosary,but strengthened by having previously received the sacrament: by thesemeans he conquered his adversary, who, after his defeat, said to him thesewords,--'Thine is more potent than mine.'"

Some of the earliest writers on chess have given their idea of theall-absorbing nature of the game in the pleasant legend, that it wasinvented by the two Grecian brothers Ledo and Tyrrheno to alleviate thepangs of hunger with which they were pressed, and that, whilst playing it,they lived weeks without considering that they had eaten nothing.

But we need not any mythical proof of its competency in thisdirection. Hyde, in his History of the Saracens, relates with authenticity,that Al Amin, the Caliph of Bagdad, was engaged at chess with his freedmanKuthar, at the time when Al Mamun's forces were carrying on the siege ofthe city with a vigor which promised him success. When one rushed in toinform the Caliph of his danger, he cried,--"Let me alone, for I seecheckmate against Kuthar!" Charles I. was at chess when he was informed ofthe decision of the Scots to sell him to the English, but only paused fromhis game long enough to receive the intelligence. King John was at chesswhen the deputies from Rouen came to inform him that Philip Augustus hadbesieged their city; but he would not hear them until he had finished thegame. An old English MS. gives in the following sentence no very handsomepicture of the chess-play of King John of England:--"John, son of KingHenry, and Fulco felle at variance at Chestes, and John brake Fulco's headwith the Chest-borde; and then Fulco gave him such a blow that he almostkilled him." The laws of chess do not now permit the king such free rangeof the board. Dr. Robertson, in his History of Charles V., relates thatJohn Frederic, Elector of Saxony, whilst he was playing with Ernest, Dukeof Brunswick, was told that the Emperor had sentenced him to be beheadedbefore the gate of Wittenberg; he with great composure proceeded with thegame, and, having beaten, expressed the usual satisfaction of a victor. Hewas not executed, however, but set at liberty, after five years'confinement, on petition of Mauritius. Sir Walter Raleigh said, "I wish tolive no longer than I can play at chess." Rousseau speaks of himself as_forcene des echecs_, "mad after chess." Voltaire called it "the one, ofall games, which does most honor to the human mind."

"When an Eastern guest was asked if he knew anything in the universe morebeautiful than the gardens of his host, which lay, an ocean of green,broad, brilliant, enchanting, upon the flowery margin of the Euphrates, hereplied,--'Yes, the chess-playing of El-Zuli.'" Surely, the compliment,though Oriental, is not without its strict truth. When Nature rises up toher culmination, the human brain, and there reveals her potencies ofinsight, foresight, analysis, memory, we are touched with a mystic beauty;the profile on the mountain-top is sublimer than the mountain. But we mustheed well Mr. Morphy's advice, and not suffer this fascinating game to bemore than a porter at the gate of the fairer garden. Only when it secures,not when it usurps the day, can it be regarded as a friend. There is amyriad-move problem, of which Society is the Sphinx, given us to solve.

He who masters chess without being mastered by it will find that itdiscovers essential principles. In the world he will see a largerchess-field, and one also shaped by the severest mathematics: the world isso because the brain of man is so,--motive and move, motive and move: theysum up life, all life,--from the aspen-leaf turning its back to the wind,to the ecstasy of a saint. See the array of pawns (_forces_, as the Hindoocalls them): the bodily presence and abilities, power of persistence,endurance, nerve, the eye, the larynx, the tongue, the senses. Do they notexist in life as on the board, to cut the way for royal or nobler pieces?Does not the Imperial Mind win its experiences, its insight, through thewear and tear of its physical twin? Is not the perfect soul "perfectthrough sufferings" for evermore? For every coin reason gets from Nature,the heart must leave a red drop impawned, the face must bear its scar. See,then, the powers of the human arena: here Castle, Knight, Bishop arePassion, Love, Hope; and above all, the sacred Queen of each man, hisspecialty, his strength, by which he must win the day, if he win atall. Here is the Idea with reference to which each man is planned; itpreexisted in the universe, and was born when he was born; it is King onthe board,--that lost, life's game is lost. By his side stands the specialStrength into whose keeping it is given, making, in Goethe's words, "everyman strong enough to enforce his conviction,"--his _conviction_, mark!Pawns and pieces form themselves about that Queen; they are all to perish,to perish one by one,--even the specialty,--that the King may triumph. Overour largest, sublimest individualities the eternal tide flows on, and thegrandest personal strides are merged in the general success. The old authordreamed that the heroes of the Trojan War were changed by Zeus into thewarriors of the mimic strife in order that such renowned exploits should beperpetuated among men forever: rather must we reverse the dream, andapotheosize the powers of the board, that they may appear in the sieges,heroisms, and victories of life.

* * * * *

SPRING-SONG.

Creep slowly up the willow-wand, Young leaves! and, in your lightness,Teach us that spirits which despond May wear their own pure brightness.

The present sanitary condition of our great cities is a reproach to ourintelligence not less than to our humanity. Our system of self-government,so far as regards the protection of the mass of the dwellers in cities fromthe worst physical evils, is now on trial. The tests to which it is exposedare severe. We may boast as we like of our national prosperity, of therapidity of our material progress,--we may take pride in liberty, in wideextent of territory, in the welcome to our shores of the exiled and thepoor of all other lands, or in whatsoever matter of self-gratulation wechoose,--but by the side of all these satisfactions stands the fact, thatin our chief cities the duration of life is diminishing and the sufferingfrom disease increasing. The question inevitably arises, Is this aconsequence of our political system? and if so, is political liberty worthhaving, are democratic principles worth establishing, if the price to bepaid for them is increased insecurity of life and greater wretchednessamong the poor? If the origin of these evils is to be found in theincompetency of the government or the inefficiency of individuals in ademocracy, a remedy must be applied, or the whole system must be changed.

The intimate connection between physical misery and moral degradation isplain and generally acknowledged. We are startled from time to time at therapid growth of crime in our cities; but it is the natural result ofpreexisting physical evils. These evils have become more apparent duringthe last twenty years than before, and it has been the fashion to attributetheir increase, with their frightful consequences, mainly to the enormousIrish immigration, which for a time crowded our streets with poor, foreignin origin, and degraded, not only by hereditary poverty, but by centuriesof civil and religious oppression. This view is no doubt in part correct;but the larger share of the evils in our cities is due to causesunconnected in any necessary relation with the immigration,--causescontemporaneous with it in their development, and brought into fulleraction by it, rather than consequent upon it.

More than half the sickness and more than half the deaths in New York (andprobably the same holds true of our other cities) are due to causes whichmay be prevented,--in other words, which are the result of individual ormunicipal neglect, of carelessness or indifference in regard to the knownand established laws of life. More than half the children who are born inNew York (and the proportion is over forty per cent. in Boston) die beforethey are five years old. Much is implied in these statements,--among otherthings, much criminal recklessness and wanton waste of the sources ofwealth and strength in a state.

In Paris, in London, and in other European cities, the average mortalityhas been gradually diminishing during the last fifty years. In New York, onthe contrary, it has increased with frightful rapidity; and in Boston,though the increase has not been so alarming, it has been steady andrapid. [Footnote: The facts upon winch these statements are based arerecorded in the Report of the Sanitary Commission of Massachusetts,1850,--in the Annual Reports of the Boston City Registrar,--in the AnnualReports of the New York Society for Improving the Condition of thePoor,--and in other public documents.

It appears that the ratio of deaths to population was,

In New York, in 1810, 1 in 46.46 " 1840, 1 in 39.74 " 1850, 1 in 33.52 " 1857, 1 in 27.15

It is probable that the ratio for the year 1858 showed somewhat moreimprovement even than appears from the above figures. The proportion isbased on the population as ascertained in 1855. Up to 1858, the populationwas somewhat, though not greatly, increased, and any increase would serveto render the proportion in 1858 more favorable to the health of thecity. But it was a year in which the number of deaths was less than it hadbeen since 1850; it was, therefore, an exceptional year; and the change inthe ratio of the deaths is, we fear, not the sign of the beginning of aprogressive improvement.]

But more and worse than this is the fact, that in these two cities theaverage duration of life (and this means the material prosperity of thepeople) has of late terribly decreased. While out of every hundred peoplemore die than was the case ten, twenty, thirty years ago, those who diehave lived a shorter time. Life is not now to be reckoned by its"threescore years and ten." Its average duration in Boston is little abovetwenty years; in New York it is less than twenty years. [Footnote: InBoston, from 1810 to 1820, the average age of all that died was 27.85years; in 1857, leaving deaths by casualty out of the calculation, it wasbut 20.63 years; in 1858, it was 21.76. In New York, from 1810 to 1820, itwas 26.15; for the last ten years of which the statistics are known, it wasless than 20.] Is the diminution of the length of life to go on from yearto year?

This needless sacrifice and shortening of life, this accumulating amount ofill health, causes an annual loss, in each of our great cities, ofproductive capacity to the value of millions of dollars, as well as anunnatural expense of millions more. This is no figure of speech. Thecommunity is poorer by millions of dollars each year through the wastewhich it allows of health and life. Leaving out of view all humaneconsiderations, all thought of the misery, social and moral, whichaccompanies this physical degradation, and looking simply at its economicaleffects, we find that it increases our taxes, diminishes our means ofpaying them, creates permanent public burdens, and lessens the value ofproperty. An outlay of a million of dollars a year to reduce and to removethe causes of these evils would be the cheapest and most profitableexpenditure of the public money by the municipal government. The principalwould soon be returned to the general treasury with all arrears ofinterest.

The main causes of this great and growing misery are patent. The remediesfor them are scarcely less plain. The chief sources of that disease anddeath which may be prevented by the action of the community are, first, thefilthy and poisonous houses into which a large part of the people arecrowded; second, the imperfect ventilation of portions of the city,--itsnarrow and dirty streets, lanes, and yards; and, third, the want ofsufficient house and street drainage and sewerage. It is important to notein relation to these sources of evil, that, while the poverty of our pooris generally not such complete destitution as that of many of the poor inforeign cities, their average condition is worse. The increase of diseaseand mortality is a result not so much of poverty as of condition. "The pithand burden of the whole matter is, that the great mass of the poor arecompelled to live in tenements that are unfit for human beings, and undercircumstances in which it is impossible to preserve health and life."

To improve the dwellings of the poor, to make them decent and wholesome,is, then, the first step to be taken in checking the causes of preventabledisease and death in our cities. This work implies, if it be donethoroughly, the securing of proper ventilation, sewerage, and drainage.

Most of the houses which the poor occupy are the property of persons whoreceive from them a rent very large in proportion to their value. No otherclass of houses gives, on an average, a larger return upon the capitalinvested in it. The rents which the poor pay, though paid in small sums,are usually enormous in comparison with the accommodation afforded. Thehouses are crowded from top to bottom. Many of them are built withoutreference to the comfort or health of their occupants, but with the soleobject of getting the largest return for the smallest outlay. They arehotbeds of disease, and exposed to constant peril from fire. Now it seemsplain that here is an occasion for the interposition of municipalauthority. In spite of the jealousy (proper within certain limits) withwhich governmental interference with private property is regarded in thiscountry, it is a manifest dereliction of duty on the part of our cityauthorities not to exercise a strict supervision over these houses. Theinterests which are chiefly affected by their condition are not private,but public interests. There are legal means for abating nuisances; andthere is no reason why houses which affect the health of whole districtsshould not be treated in the same way as nuisances which are moreobtrusive, though less pernicious. In some of the cities of Europe, inNuremberg, for instance, there is a public architect, to whom all plans fornew buildings are submitted for approval or rejection according as theycorrespond or not with the style of building suitable for the city. What isdone abroad to secure the beauty of a city might well be done here tosecure its health. Again, by legal enactment, we have prevented theovercrowding of our emigrant ships: the same thing should be done in ourcities, to prevent the overcrowding of our tenement-houses. No house shouldbe allowed to receive more than a fixed maximum of dwellers in proportionto its size and accommodations. These are simple propositions, but, ifproperly carried out by enactment, they would secure an incalculable good.

[Footnote: Since writing the preceding sentences, we have been gratified tosee that a bill proposing the creation of a Metropolitan Board of Healthhas been introduced into the Legislature of New York. If the bill becomes alaw, as we trust it may, the board will be invested with power "to enactordinances for the proper government and control of buildings erecting orto be erected, ... to compel the lessees or owners of dwellings to put thesame in proper order, and to provide sufficient means of egress in case offire." The New-York Evening Post of March 23, in giving an account of thisbill, says,--and there is no exaggeration in its statements,--

"The nearly one million of souls of this great city are left to take careof themselves,--to be crowded mercilessly by landlords into houses withoutlight, air, or water, and without means of egress in case of fire; and thestreet filth is allowed to accumulate till the city has become as thefamous Pontine Marshes, to breathe whose exhalations is certaindisease. All this results, as is proved by comparison with other cities, inthe unnecessary loss of five thousand to eight thousand lives annually, andof many millions of dollars expended for unnecessary sickness, and theconsequent loss of time and strength,--all of which might be saved, as theyare actually saved in other and larger cities, by the application ofsanitary laws by intelligent and efficient officers.

"And yet our Common Council are unmoved to apply the corrective, and theLegislature postpones action upon the numerous petitions of the people uponthe subject. How long these bodies will be suffered to abuse the patienceof our citizens we cannot tell; but the breaking out of a pestilence whichshall sweep a thousand a week into the grave, and bring this city tofinancial ruin, will be but a natural issue of the present neglect. TheHealth Bill now before the Legislature has been prepared under the auspicesof the Sanitary Association. Its provisions are sweeping; but theimportance of the subject, the uniform filthy condition of our streets, andthe wretched and unsafe condition of our tenement-houses imperativelydemand changes of the most radical nature. The general provisions of thebill seem to cover the points most requiring legislation; and while in someof its details it could probably be improved, it is difficult to imaginethat the present state of sanitary regulations could be made worse, andcertain that the proposed reforms, if carried out, would be of greatadvantage."

In Massachusetts, statutes have existed for some years, giving to theBoards of Health of the different cities or towns powers of a similarnature to those granted by the bill proposed for New York, but of far toolimited scope. By Chapter 26, Sec. 11, of the General Statutes, which are togo into operation this year, the Boards of Health are authorized to removethe occupants of any tenement, occupied as a dwelling-place, which is unfitfor the purpose, and a cause of nuisance or sickness either to theoccupants or the public,--and may require the premises, previously to theirreoccupation, to be properly cleansed at the expense of the owner. But thepenalty for a violation of this article is too light, being a fine of notless than ten nor more than fifty dollars. To secure any essential goodfrom this law, it must be energetically enforced, with a disregard ofpersonal consequences, and an enlightened view of public and private rightsand necessities, scarcely to be expected from Boards of Health as commonlyconstituted. We require a law upon this subject conveying far amplerpowers, enforced by far heavier penalties. It should embrace oversight ofthe construction as well as of the condition of the dwellings of thepoor. Until we obtain such a law, the community is bound to insist upon arigid enforcement of the present imperfect statute.

[The bill above alluded to by our correspondent has since been rejected bythe Legislature of New York.--EDS. ATLANTIC.]]

Still, however much may be done by public authority, the condition of thedwellings of the poor must be determined chiefly by the interest and thelegal responsibility of their individual owners. That men may be foundwilling to make fortunes for themselves by grinding the faces of the pooris certain; but there are, on the other hand, many who would be willing touse some portion, at least, of their means to provide suitable homes forthe destitute, could they be assured of receiving a fair return upon theproperty invested. It has been a matter of doubt whether proper housescould be built for the dwellings of the lower classes, with all necessaryaccommodations for health and comfort, at such a cost that the rents couldbe kept as low as those paid for the common wretched tenements, and at thesame time be sufficient to afford a reasonable interest upon theinvestment. Toward the solution of this doubt, an experiment which has beentried in Boston during the last five years has afforded important results.

In the spring of 1853, a number of gentlemen having subscribed a sufficientsum for the purpose of building a house or houses on the best plan, asModel Dwellings for the Poor, a society was formed, which, in the nextyear, received an act of incorporation from the Legislature under the styleof "The Model Lodging-House Association." A suitable lot of land havingbeen obtained upon favorable terms, at the corner of Pleasant Street andOsborn Place, the Directors of the Association proceeded to erect two brickhouses, of different construction, each containing separate tenements fortwenty families. The plans of the buildings were prepared with great careto secure the essentials of a healthy home,--pure air, pure water,efficient drainage, cleanliness, and light. In their details, strict regardwas had to the most economical and best use of a limited space, and ampleprecautions were taken to reduce to its least the risk of fire. In eachhouse, double staircases, continuous to the roof, (and in one of them ofiron,) and two main exits were provided; and more recently, the twobuildings, which are separated from each other by a passage-way some feetin width, have been connected by throwing an iron bridge from roof to roof,by which, in case of alarm in one of them, escape may be readily hadthrough the other. Each house was, moreover, divided in the middle by asolid brick partition-wall.

The houses are five stories in height, not including the basement orcellar, with four tenements in each story. The reduced plans, on theopposite page, exhibit the general arrangements of the houses, and show thecomplete separation of each set of apartments from the others, each oneopening by a single door upon the common stairs or passage. Their relationis scarcely closer than that of separate houses in a common continuousblock. Each tenement, it will be observed, consists of a living-room, andtwo or three sleeping-rooms, according to the space, a wash-room, with sinkand cupboards, and a water-closet. The stories are eight feet and sixinches in height, which is ample for the necessities of ventilation. In oneof the buildings, each tenement is provided with shafts for dust and offal,communicating with receptacles in the cellar. The roofs of both are fittedwith conveniences for the drying of clothes, properly guarded; and in thecellars of both are closets, one for each tenement, to hold fuel orstores. In the basement of house No. 1 there are also two bathing-rooms,which have been found of great use.

It would be difficult, after some years' experience, to pronounce which ofthe two houses is the best fitted for its object. Their cost was nearly thesame. The plan of No. 1 is original and ingenious; its large open centralspace is valuable for purposes of ventilation, and as affording opportunityfor exercise under cover in stormy weather for infants and infirmpeople. This advantage is perhaps compensated for in the other house by thefact of each tenement reaching from back to front of the house, thussecuring within itself the means of a thorough draught of fresh air. Bothplans are excellent, and may be unqualifiedly recommended.

The houses were ready for occupation about the beginning of 1855, and sincethat time have been constantly full. The applicants for tenements, wheneverone becomes vacant, are always numerous.

The cost of these two buildings was a little over $18,000 each, exclusiveof the cost of the land upon which they stand. The land cost about $8,000;and the whole cost of the buildings, including some slight changessubsequent to their original erection, and of the lot on which they stand,would be more than covered by the sum of $46,000.

The rents were fixed upon a scale varying with the amount of accommodationafforded by the separate tenements, and with their convenience of access.They run from $2 to $2.87 per week. By those familiar with the rents paidby the poor these sums will be seen to be not higher than are frequentlypaid for the most unhealthy and inconvenient lodgings. The total annualamount of rent received from each house is $2,353, which, after payingtaxes, water-rates, gas-bills, and all other expenses, including allrepairs necessary to keep the building in good order, leaves a full six percent. interest upon the sum invested.

A portion of the land purchased by the Association not having been occupiedby the two houses already described, it was determined to erect a thirdhouse upon it, of a somewhat superior character, for a class just above theline of actual poverty, but often forced by circumstances into unhealthyand uncomfortable homes. This was accordingly done, at a cost, includingthe land, of about $26,000. The house, of which the plan is well worthy ofimitation, contains a shop and nine tenements. These tenements, which formnot only comfortable, but agreeable homes, are rented at from two to threehundred dollars a year, and the gross income derived from the building isabout $2,500.

During the five years since the first occupation of the houses no loss ofrents has occurred. For the most part, the rent has been paid not onlypunctually, but with satisfaction, and the expressions which have beenreceived of the content of the occupants of the tenements have been of themost gratifying sort. The houses, as we know from personal inspection, arenow in a state of excellent repair, and show no signs of carelessness orneglect on the part of their occupants. Few private houses would have afresher and neater aspect after so long occupancy. The tenants have been,with few exceptions, Americans by birth, and they have taken pains to keepup the character of their dwellings.

One of the Trustees of the Association, a gentleman to whose good judgmentand constant oversight, as well as to his sympathetic kindness tor theoccupants of the houses and interest in their affairs, much of the successof this experiment is due, says, in a letter from which we are permitted toquote,--"From my experience in the management of this kind of property, Ibelieve that it may in all cases with proper care be made _safe andpermanent for investment_. But what I think better of is the good suchhouses do in elevating and making happier their tenants, and I much rejoicein having had an opportunity to test their usefulness."

As a comment upon these brief, but weighty sentences, we would beg any ofour readers, who may have opportunity, to look for himself at thesubstantial and not unornamental buildings of the Association, with theirshowier front on Pleasant Street, and their imposing length and height ofrange along the side of Osborn Place,--to see them affording healthy andconvenient homes to fifty families, many of whom, without some suchprovision, would be exposed to be forced into the wretched quarters toofamiliar to the poor,--and then to compare them with the commonlodging-houses in any of the lower streets or alleys of Boston or New York.

A similar work to that performed by the Boston Association was undertakenshortly afterward by a society in New York, who in 1854-5 erected abuilding containing ninety tenements of three rooms each, under the name of"The Working-Men's Home." The cost of this enormous building, which waswell designed, was about $90,000. It is fifty-five feet in breadth by onehundred and ninety feet in length; it is nearly fireproof, and is providedwith double stairways. It has been occupied from the first by coloredpeople, and we regret to learn that it has not proved a success, so far asregards the annual return upon the property invested. After paying theheavy city tax of 1 3/4 per cent., and the charges for gas and water, thesum remaining for an annual dividend is not more than four per cent.

This want of success is not, we believe, inherent in the plan itself, butis the result of a want of proper management and supervision. We learn thatthe tenants often leave without paying rent, and that the building is moreor less injured by their neglect. The class of tenants has undoubtedly beenof a lower grade than that which has occupied the Boston houses, and thehabits of the blacks are far inferior to those of the white American poorin personal neatness and care of their dwellings. But we have no doubt,that, in spite of these drawbacks, a good revenue might be derived from therents paid by this class of tenants. The success of the Boston experimentis due in considerable part to the employment by the Association of a paidSuperintendent, living with his family in one of the buildings, who has ageneral oversight of the houses, collects the rents, and determines theclaims of occupants of the tenements. Such an officer is indispensable forthe proper carrying on of any similar undertaking on so large a scale. Wetrust that no effort will be spared in New York to bring out moresatisfactory results from this great establishment. Benevolence is onething, and good investments another; but benevolence in this case does notdo half its work, unless it can be proved to pay. It must be profitable, inorder to be in the best sense a charity.

The effect which the Boston houses have already had, in proving that homesfor the poor can be built on the best plan for the health and comfort oftheir inmates and at the same time be good investments of property, ismanifest in many private undertakings. Several large houses have alreadybeen built upon similar plans; old lodging-houses have been in severalinstances remodelled and otherwise improved; blocks of small dwellings forone or two families have been erected with every convenience for the classwho can afford to pay from three to six dollars a week for theiraccommodations. The example set by the Association promises to be widelyfollowed.

Much, however, yet remains to be done, and associate or private energy isneeded for the trial of new and not less important experiments than thatalready well performed. The means for some of them are at hand. It will beremembered that the late Hon. Abbott Lawrence, to whose beneficence duringhis life the community was so largely indebted, and whose liberal deedswill long be remembered with gratitude, left by will the sum of $50,000 tobe held by Trustees for the erection of dwellings for the poor. This sumwill in a short time be ready for employment for its designated purpose,and it may be hoped that those who control its disposal will not so muchimitate the work already done as perform a work not yet accomplished, butnot less essential. The houses of the Association are, as we have stated,not occupied by the most destitute poor,--and it is for this lowest classthat the most pressing need exists for an improvement in theirhabitations. If the cellar-dwelling poor can be provided with healthyhomes, and these homes can be made to pay a fair rent, the worst evil inthe condition of our cities will be in a way to be remedied. It is verydesirable that a house should be erected in one of the crowded quarters ofthe city, and at a distance from the buildings of the Association, in whicheach room should be arranged for separate occupation. The rooms might be ofdifferent sizes upon the different floors, to accommodate single men whorequire only a lodging-place, or a man and wife. Perhaps on one floor roomsshould be made with means of opening into each other, to supply the need ofthose who might require more than one of them. The house should be heatedthroughout by furnaces, to save the necessity of fires in the rooms; and asno private meals could be cooked in the house, an eating-room, where mealscould be had or provisions purchased ready for eating, should form part ofthe arrangements of the house in the lower story. There can be no doubtthat such a house would be at once filled,--and but little, that, ifproperly built and managed, under efficient superintendence it would paywell, at the lowest rates of rent. Even with a possibility of its failingto return a net annual income of six per cent upon its cost, it is anexperiment that ought to be tried,--and we earnestly hope that the Trusteesof Mr. Lawrence's bequest will not hesitate to make it. Putting out ofquestion all considerations of profitable investment, it would be, as apure charity, one of the best works that could be performed.

We must restore health to our cities, and, to accomplish this end, we mustprovide fit homes for the poor. The way in which this may be done has beenshown.

* * * * *

A SHORT CAMPAIGN ON THE HUDSON.

The campaigner marched out of a lawyer's office in Nassau Street, New York.

"Shyster," said our old man, as he called me into his own den, or ratherlair,--(for den, I take it, is the private residence of a beast of prey,and lair his place of business. I do not think that this definition ismine, but I forget to whom it belongs,)--"I suppose you would not dislike atrip into the country? Very well. These papers must be explained to GeneralVan Bummel, and signed by him. He lives at Thunderkill, on the Hudson. Takethe ten-o'clock train, and get back as soon as you can. Charge yourexpenses to the office."

"What luck!" thought I, as I dashed down-stairs into thestreet,--determined to obey his last injunction to the letter, whatevercourse I might think fit to adopt about the one preceding it. No one whohas not been an attorney's clerk at three dollars a week, copyingdeclarations and answers from nine A.M. to six P.M., in a dusty, inky,uncarpeted room, with windows unwashed since the last lease expired, canform a correct notion of the exhilaration of my mind when I took my seat inthe railroad-car. The great Van Bnmmel himself never felt bigger norbetter.

It was in that loveliest season of the year, the Indian summer,--a week orten days of atmospheric perfection which the clerk of the weather allows usas a compensation for our biting winter and rheumatic spring. The veiledrays of the sun and the soft shadows produce the effect of a goldenmoonlight, and make even Nature's shabbiest corners attractive. To beout-of-doors with nothing to do, and nothing to think of but the merepleasure of existence, is happiness enough at such times. But I was lookingat a river panorama which is one of Nature's best efforts, I have heard;and on that morning it seemed to me impossible that the world could showanything grander.

It was very calm. The broad glittering surface of the river showed here andthere a slight ripple, when some breath of air touched it for a moment; butwind there was none,--only a few idle breezes lounging about, waiting fororders to join old Boreas in his next autumnal effort to crack hischeeks. The bright-colored trees glowed on the mountain-sides like beds ofliving coals.

"How the deuse," thought I, as I stared at them, "can a discerning publicbe satisfied with Cole's pictures of 'American Scenery in the Fall of theYear'? You see on his canvas, to be sure, red, green, orange, and so on,the peculiar tints of the leaves; but Nature does more (and Cole does not):she blends the variegated hues into one bright mass of bewitching color bythe magic of this soft, golden, hazy sunshine. I wish, too, that the greatcompany of story-tellers would let scenery rest in peace. The charm of alandscape is entireness, unity; it strikes the eye at once and as a whole.Examination of the component parts is quite a different thing. Who eanbuild up a view in his mind by piling up details like bricks upon oneanother? Most people, I suspect, will find, as I do, that, no matter whatauthor they may be reading, the same picture always presents itself. Avague outline of some view they have seen arises in the memory,--like theforest scene in a scantily furnished theatre, which comes on for everyplay. The naked woods, trees, rocks, lake, river, mountain, would have donethe business just as well, and saved a deal of writing and of printing. Themost successful artist in this line I know of is Michael Scott, whosetropical sketches in 'Tom Cringle's Log' are unequalled by anylandscape-painter, past or present, who uses pen and ink instead of canvasand colors."

My trance was broken by the voice of the brakeman shouting, "Thunderkill,"into the car, as the train drew up at a wooden station-house. Jumping out,I asked the way to General Van Bummel's. A man with a whip in his handoffered his services as guide and common carrier. I determined toexperience a new sensation,--for once in my life to anathematizeexpenditure, and charge it to the office. So, climbing into a kind ofleathern tent upon wheels, I was soon on my way to the leaguer of theGeneral. A drive of a mile brought us to two stout stone gateposts,surmounted each by a cannon-ball, which marked Van Bummel's boundary. Weturned into a lane shut in by trees. While busily taking an inventory ofthe General's landed possessions for future use, my attention was drawn offby loud shouts, the sound of the gallop of horses and the rattling ofwheels. Imagining at once that the General's family-pair must be runningaway with his family-coach, I eagerly urged my driver to push on; but thecold-hearted wretch only laughed and said he "guessed there was nothingparticular the matter." At last, we _debouched_ (excuse the word; I havenot yet got the military taste out of my mouth) upon a lawn, across which apair of large bay horses, ridden postilion-fashion by one man, weredragging a brass six-pounder, upon which sat another in full uniform.

"What the Devil is that?" said I.

"That's the Gineral and his coachman a-having a training," answered mydriver.

As he spoke, the officer shouted, "Halt!"

Coachy pulled up.

"Unlimber!" thundered the chief; and, aided by his man, obeyed his ownorders.

"Load!" and "Fire!" followed in rapid succession.

I saw and smelt that they used real powder. This over, the horses were madefast again, John, bestrode his nag, the General clambered on to his brazenseat and down they came at a tearing pace directly towards us. Luckily Ihad read "Charles O'Malley," and knew how to behave in such cases. I jumpedfrom the wagon, and, tying my handkerchief to the ferule of my umbrella,advanced, waving it and shouting, "A flag of truce!" The General ordered ahalt and despatched himself to the flag. As he approached I beheld a stout,middle-aged, good natured looking man, dressed in the graceless costume ofUncle Sam's army; but I must say that he wore it with more grace than mostof the Regulars I have seen. Our soldiers look unbecomingly in theirclothes,--there is no denying it,--a good deal like _sups_ in a processionat the Bowery. A New-York policeman sports pretty much the same dress inmuch better style. You hardly ever see an officer or private, least of allthe officer, with the _air militaire_. I also noticed with pleasure thatthe General had not on his head that melodramatic black felt,feather-bedecked hat, which some fantastic Secretary of War must haveimagined in a dream, after seeing "Fra Diavolo" at the opera, or Wallack inMassaroni. In place of this abomination, a cap covered with glazed leathersurmounted his martial brow. When we met, I lowered my umbrella and offeredmy card, with the office pasteboard. He took them with great gravity, readthe names, and requested me to fall back to the rear and await orders. Thenrejoining his gun, he was driven slowly towards the house,--my peaceful_ambulance_ following at a respectful distance. When I reached the door,the six-pounder had disappeared behind a clump of evergreens, and theGeneral stood waiting to receive me. His manner was affable.

I complied, and while the General was absent, engaged in carrying out somehospitable suggestions for my refreshment, I examined the room. It waslarge, and handsomely furnished. I looked into the bookcases: the shelveswere filled with works on War, from Caesar's Commentaries down to LouisNapoleon on Rifled Cannon. In one corner stood a suit of armor; in anothera stand of firearms; between them a star of bayonets. On the mantelpiece Iperceived a model of a small field-piece in brass and oak, and, whatinterested me more, a cigarbox. I raised the lid; the box was half full ofhighly creditable-looking cigars. My soul expanded with the thought of aprobable offer of at least one.

"None of your Flor de Connecticuts," I thought, "from the Vuelta Abajo ofNew-Windsor, but the genuine Simon Puros."

A second glance at the inside of the lid caused grave doubts to depress myspirits. I beheld there, in place of the usual ill-executed lithograph withits _fabricas_ and its _calles_, three small portraits. The middle one wasthe General in full uniform; I recognized him easily; the other two were nodoubt his aides-de-camp;--all evidently photographs; they were so ugly. Idropped the lid in disappointment, and turned to the side-table. On it laya handsome sword in an open box lined with silk. Over it hung, framed andglazed, the speech of the committee appointed by his fellow-soldiers of thecounty to present the sword to the General, together with the General's"neat and appropriate" answer and acceptance.

I began to be a little astonished. I certainly did not expect anything ofthis sort. Our old man called him General, to be sure; but General meansnothing, in the rural districts, but a certain amount of wealth andrespectability. It has taken the place of Squire. But here was I with a manwho took his title _au serieux_. What with the uniform, the cannon, and thecoachman, I began to feel like an ambassador to a potentate with a standingarmy.

Here the General reappeared, bearing in his august hands a decanter and apitcher. After due refreshment, I produced my papers, made the necessaryexplanations, and executed my commission so much to his satisfaction thathe invited me cordially to dine and spend the night, instead of taking theevening-train down. I accepted, of course,--such chances seldom fell intomy way,--and was shown into a nice little bedroom, in which I was expectedto dress for dinner. Dress, indeed! I had on my best, and did not come tostay. Novel-heroes manage to remain weeks without apparent luggage; but amodern attorney's clerk, however moderate may be his toilette-tackle, findsit inconvenient to be separated from it. However, I did what Icould,--washed my hands, settled the bow of my neck-tie, smoothed my hairwith my fingers, and thought, as I descended to the drawing-room, of thetravelling Frenchman, who, after a night spent in a diligence, wiped outhis eyes with his handkerchief, put on a paper false collar, andexclaimed,--"_Me voici propre!_"

"But, my dear General, I only dropped in for a few moments; and really Ihave so much to do!"

"I am sorry, Sir," rejoined the General, sternly, "but you cannot beexcused. You accepted the position of Chaplain to the Regiment. Youneglected to attend the last two reviews. You were condemned by a CourtMartial, over which I presided, to twenty-four hours' arrest, which youmust now submit to."

"But, my dear General," feebly expostulated the man of prayer, "you know Ithought the nomination a mere pleasantry; I had no idea you were serious,or I should never have listened to the proposition."

"Can't help that, Sir. You accepted the commission, you neglected yourduty, and you must take the consequences."

Just then, as the poor perplexed parson was about to make another attemptfor liberty, a side-door swung open; a well-built, comely servant-girl,dressed like Jenny Lind in the "Fille du Regiment," appeared. Bringing theback of her hand to her forehead, she said,--

"General, dinner is ready."

Van Bummel muttered something about "joining our mess," and led the way tothe banqueting-hall. I was too hungry to be particular about names, and didample justice to an excellent spread and well-selected tap,--carefullyavoiding eating with my knife or putting salt upon the table-cloth, which Ihad often heard was never done by the aristocracy. As I kept my eyes uponthe others and imitated them to the best of my ability, I hope I did notdisgrace Nassau Street.

The evening passed quickly and agreeably. I played chess with the reverendprisoner. The man of war read steadily folio history of Marlborough'scampaigns, making occasional references to maps and plans. As the clockstruck nine, an explosion on the lawn made the windows rattle again. Ijumped to my feet, but, seeing that the rest of the company lookedsurprised at my vivacity, I sat down, guessing that the six-pounder and thecoachman had something to do with it.

"Don't be alarmed, Sir," said the General, "it's only gun-fire. We retireabout this time."

I took the hint, requested to be shown to my room, undressed, jumped into acamp bedstead, and tried to sleep. Impossible!--the novelty of my day'sexperiences, the beauty of the night, (for the full moon was shining intothe windows,) or perhaps a cup of strong coffee I had swallowed withoutmilk after dinner because the others took it, kept me awake. Finding sleepout of the question, I got up and dressed myself. My chamber was on theground-floor, and opened upon the lawn. I stepped quietly out into the hazymoonlight, lighted a cigar, and walked towards the river. It was aremarkably fine evening, certainly, but a very damp one. Heavy dew drippedfrom the trees. I found, as my weed grew shorter, that my fondness for theromantic in Nature waned, and slowly retraced my steps to the house,muttering to myself some of Edgar Poe's ghostly lines:--

"I stand beneath the mystic moon; An opiate vapor, dewey, dim Exhales from out her golden rim, And softly dripping, drop by drop, Upon the quiet mountain-top, Steals drowsily and musically Into the universal valley."

I was about entering, when a figure advanced suddenly from behind a pillarof the veranda, holding a something in its hand which glittered in themoonlight, and which rattled as it dropped from the perpendicular to thehorizontal, pointing at me.

"Who goes there?" said the apparition, in a hoarse voice. "Stand, and givethe countersign!"

I recognized the voice of the soldier-servant of the morning. There he wasagain, that indefatigable coachman, doing duty as sentinel with a musket inhis hands. Not knowing what else to say, I replied,--

"It is I, a friend!"

My good grammar was thrown away upon the brute.

"The countersign," he repeated.

"Pooh, pooh!" said I, "I do not know anything about the countersign. I amMr. Shyster, who came up this morning, when you and the General were doinglight-artillery practice on the lawn. Please let me go to my room."

But the brute stood immovable. As I advanced, I heard him cock his musket.

"Good God!" thought I, "this is no joke, after all. This stupid stable-manmay have loaded his musket. What if it should go off? If I retreat, I mustcamp out,--no joke at this season;--rheumatism and a loss of salary, to saythe least. This will never do."

And I screamed,--

"General! General Van Bummel!"

"Silence! or I'll march you to the guard-house," thundered the sentinel.

Luckily the General lay, like Irene, "with casement open to the skies." Heheard the noise. I recognized his martial tones. I hurriedly explained mysituation. He gave me the word; it was Eugene; countersign,Marlborough. This satisfied the Coach-Cerberus, and I passed into bedwithout further mishap.

The first sound I heard the next morning was the rat-tat-too of adrum. "There goes that d----d coachman again," I said to myself, and turnedover for another nap; but a shrill bugle-call brought me to my seat.

Running to the window, I saw two men on horseback in dragoon equipments.The horses were the artillery-nags of yesterday; the riders, the Generaland his man-at-all-arms. Hurrying on my clothes, I got out of doors in timeto see them go at a gallop across the lawn, leap a low hedge at the end ofthe grass-plot, and disappear in the orchard. Thither I followed fast tosee the sport. They reached the boundary-line of the Van-Bummel estate,wheeled, and turned back on a trot. When the General espied me, he wavedhis sabre and shouted, "Charge!" They galloped straight at me. I had barelytime to dodge behind an apple-tree, when they passed like a whirlwind overthe spot I had been standing on, and covered me with dirt from the heels oftheir horses. I walked back to the house, very much annoyed, as men are aptto be, when they think they have compromised their dignity a little bydodging to escape danger from another's mischief or folly. At breakfast,accordingly, I remonstrated with the chief; but he only laughed, and askedme why I did not form a hollow square and let the front rank kneel andfire.

"As soon as you have finished your coffee," he added, "I will take you intothe trenches, and there you will be out of danger."

I could not refuse. The trenches were at the bottom of the garden, near theentrance-drive. I had seen them yesterday, and in my ignorance thought ofcelery; now, I knew better. This morning, a tent was pitched a few yardsfrom a long low wall of sods; and between the tent and the sods there was asmall trench, about large enough to hold draining-tiles. Pointing to thewall, the general said,--

"There is Sebastopol," (pronouncing it correctly, accent on the _to_,) "andhere," turning to the tent, "are my head-quarters. My sappers have justestablished a mine under the Quarantine Battery. In a few moments I shallblow it up, and storm the breach, if we make a practicable one."

Here the Protean coachman made his appearance with a leather apron and abroad-axe. He signified that all was ready. A lucifer was rubbed upon astone, the train ignited, bang went the mine, and over went we all three,prostrated by a shower of turf and mud. The mine had exploded backward, andhad annihilated the storming party. Fortunately, the General had economisedin powder. Gradually we picked ourselves up, considerably bewildered, butnot much hurt. Van Bummel attempted to explain; but I had had enough ofwar's alarms, and yearned for the safety and peace of Nassau Street. So Ibade the warrior good-morning, and took the first down-train, _multa mecumvolvens_; "making a revolver of my mind," Van Bummel would have translatedit. I knew that our soil produced more soldiers even than France, thefertile mother of red-legged heroes; but I did not expect, in theNineteenth Century and in the State of New York, to have beheld an avatarof the God Mars.

* * * * *

THINE.

The tide will ebb at day's decline: _Ich bin dein!_ Impatient for the open sea, At anchor rocks the tossing ship, The ship which only waits for thee; Yet with no tremble of the lip I say again, thy hand in mine, _Ich bin dein!_

Dream on the slopes of Apennine: _Ich bin dein!_ Stand where the glaciers freeze and frown, Where Alpine torrents flash and foam, Or watch the loving sun go down Behind the purple hills of Rome, Leaving a twilight half divine: _Ich bin dein!_

Thy steps may fall beside the Rhine: _Ich bin dein!_ Slumber may kiss thy drooping lids Amid the mazes of the Nile, The shadow of the Pyramids May cool thy feet,--yet all the while, Though storms may beat, or stars may shine, _Ich bin dein!_

Where smile the hills of Palestine, _Ich bin dein!_ Where rise the mosques and minarets,-- Where every breath brings flowery balms,-- Where souls forget their dark regrets Beneath the strange, mysterious palms,-- Where the banana builds her shrine,-- _Ich bin dein!_

Too many clusters break the vine: _Ich bin dein!_ The tree whose strength and life outpour In one exultant blossom-gush Must flowerless be forevermore: We walk _this_ way but once, friend;--hush! Our feet have left no trodden line: _Ich bin dein!_

Who heaps his goblet wastes his wine: _Ich bin dein!_ The boat is moving from the land;-- I have no chiding and no tears;-- Now give me back my empty hand To battle with the cruel years,-- Behold, the triumph shall be mine! _Ich bin dein!_

* * * * *

THE REPRESENTATIVE ART.

No art is worth anything that does not embody an idea,--that is notrepresentative: otherwise, it is like a body without a soul, or the imageof some divinity that never had existence. Art needs, indeed, to beindividualized, to betray the characteristics of the artist, to be himselfinfused into his work; but more than this, it needs to typify, toillustrate the character of the age,--to be of a piece with otherexpressions of the sentiment that animates other men at the time. It mustbe one note in the concert, and that not discordant,--neither behind timenor ahead of it,--neither in the wrong key nor the other mode: you don'twant Verdi in one of Beethoven's symphonies; you don't want Mozart inRossini's operas. No art ever has lived that was not the genuine product ofthe era in which it appeared; no art ever can live that is not such aproduct: it may, perchance, have a temporary or fictitious success, but itcan neither really and truly exert an influence at the moment of itshighest triumph, nor afterwards remain a power among men, unless it reflectthe spirit of the epoch, unless it show the very age and body of the timehis form and pressure.

All greatness consists in this: in being alive to what is going on aroundone; in living actually; in giving voice to the thought of humanity; insaying to one's fellows what they want to hear or need to hear at thatmoment; in being the concretion, the result, of the influences of thepresent world. In no other way can one affect the world than in respondingthus to its needs, in embodying thus its ideas. You will see, in looking tohistory, that all great men have been a piece of their time; take them outand set them elsewhere, they will not fit so well; they were made for theirday and generation. The literature which has left any mark, which has beenworthy of the name, has always mirrored what was doing around it; notnecessarily daguerreotyping the mere outside, but at least reflecting theinside,--the thoughts, if not the actions of men,--their feelings andsentiments, even if it treated of apparently far-off themes. You maydiscuss the Greek republics in the spirit of the modern one; you may singidyls of King Arthur in the very mood of the nineteenth century. Art, too,will be seen always to have felt this necessity, to have submitted to thislaw. The great dramatists of Greece, like those of England, all flourishedin a single period, blossomed in one soil; the sculptures of antiquityrepresented the classic spirit, and have never been equalled since, becausethey were the legitimate product of that classic spirit. You cannot haveanother Phidias till man again believes in Jupiter. The Gothicarchitecture, how meanly is it imitated now! What cathedrals built in thiscentury rival those of Milan or Strasbourg or Notre Dame? Ah! there is nosuch Catholicism to inspire the builders; the very men who reared themwould not be architects, if they lived to-day. And the Italian painters,the Angelos and Raphaels and Da Vincis and Titians, who were geniuses ofsuch universal power that they builded and carved and went on embassies andworked in mathematics only with less splendid success than theypainted,--they painted because the age demanded it; they painted as the agedemanded; they were religious, yet sensuous, like their nation; they feltthe influence of the Italian sun and soil. Their faith and their historywere compressed into The Last Judgment and the Cartoons; their passion aswell as their power may be recognized in The Last Supper and The Venus ofthe Bath.

There is always a necessity for this expression of the character of theage. This spirit of our age, this mixed materialistic and imaginativespirit,--this that abroad prompts Russian and Italian wars, and at homediscovers California mines,--that realizes gorgeous dreams of hidden gold,and Napoleonic ideas of almost universal sway,--that bridges Niagara, andunder-lays the sea with wire, and, forgetful of the Titan fate, essays topenetrate the clouds,--this spirit, so practical that those who choose tolook on one side only of the shield can see only perjured monarchstrampling on deceived or decaying peoples, and backwoodsmen hewing forests,and begrimed laborers setting up telegraph-poles or working atprinting-presses,--this spirit also so full of imagination,--which hasproduced an outburst of music (that most intangible and subtile andimaginative of arts) such as the earth never heard before,--which isdeveloping in the splendid, showy life, in the reviving taste for pageantrythat some supposed extinct, in the hurried, crowded incidents that willfill up the historic page that treats of the nineteenth century,--thisspirit is sure to get expression in art.

The American people, cosmopolitan, concrete, the union, the result ratherof a union of so many nationalities, ought surely to do its share towardsthis expression. The American people surely represents the century,--hasmuch of its spirit: is full of unrest; is eminently practical, butpractical only in embodying poetical or lofty ideas; is demonstrative andexcitable; resembles the French much and in many things,--the French, whoare at the head of modern and European civilization,--who think and feeldeeply, but do not keep their feelings hidden. The Americans, too, likeexpression: when they admire a Kossuth or a Jenny Lind, a patriot exile ora foreign singer, all the world is sure to know of their admiration; whenthey are delighted at some great achievement in science, like the laying ofan Atlantic Cable, they demonstrate their delight. They make theirsuccessful generals Presidents; they give dinners to Morphy and banquets toCyrus Field. They are thoroughly imbued with the spirit of theage. Therefore they are artistic.

How amazed some will be at the proposition,--amazed that the age should becalled an artistic one,--amazed that Americans should be considered anartistic nation! Yet art is only the expression in outward and visible formof an inward and spiritual grace,--the sacrament of the imagination. Art isan incarnation in colors or stone or music or words of some subtile essencewhich requires the embodiment. We all have delicate fancies, loftyimaginings, profound sentiments; the artist expresses them for us. If,then, this age be one that requires expression for its ideas, that ispractical, that insists on accomplishing its designs, on creating itschildren, on producing its results, it is an artistic age. For art works; apoet is a maker, according to the Greeks: and all artists are poets; theyall produce; they all do; they all make. They do just what all thepractical men of this practical age are doing, what even the Gradgrinds aredoing: they embody ideas; they put thoughts into facts. A quiet,contemplative age is not an artistic one; art has ever flourished instirring times: Grecian wars and Guelphic strife have been its fosteringinfluences. An artist is very far from being an idle dreamer; he works ashard as the merchant or the mechanic,--works, too, physically as well asmentally, with his hand as well as his head.

This is all statement: let us have some facts; let us embody our ideas. Doyou not call Meyerbeer, with his years of study and effort and application,a worker? Do you not call Verdi, who has produced thirty operas, a worker?Do you not imagine that Turner labored on his splendid pictures? Do you notknow how Crawford toiled and spun away his nerves and brain? Have you notheard of the incessant and tremendous attention that for many months Churchbestowed on the canvas that of late attracted the admiration of Englishcritics and their Queen? Was Rachel idle? Have these artists not spent thesubstance of themselves as truly as any of your politicians or yoursoldiers or your traders? Can you not trace in them the same energy, thesame effort, the same determination as in Louis Napoleon, as in ZacharyTaylor, as in Stephen Girard? Are not they also representative?

And their works,--for by these shall ye know them,--do they reflect innothing this fitful, uneasy, yet splendid intensity of to-day? Can you notread in the colors on Turner's canvas, can you not see in the rush ofChurch's Niagara, can you not hear in the strains of the Traviata, can younot perceive in the tones and looks of Ristori, just what you find in thesuccessful men in other spheres of life? Rothschild's fortune speaks nomore plainly than the Robert le Diable; George Sand's novels and Carlyle'shistories tell the same story as Kossuth's eloquence and Garibaldi'sdeeds. The artists are as alive to-day as any in the the world. For, againand again, art is not an outside thing; its professors, its lovers, are notplaced outside the world; they are in it and of it as absolutely as therest. You who think otherwise, remember that Verdi's name six months agowas the watchword of the Italian revolutionists; remember that certainoperas are forbidden now to be played in Naples, lest they should arousethe countrymen of Masaniello; remember, or learn, if you did not know, howin New York, last June, all the singers in town offered their services fora benefit to the Italian cause, and all the _habitues_, late though theseason was, crowded to their places to see an opera whose attractivenesshad been worn out and whose novelty was nearly gone. You who think that artis an interest unworthy of men who live in the world, that it is a thingapart, what say you to the French, the most actual, the most practical, themost worldly of peoples, and yet the fondest of art in all its phases,--theFrench, who remembered the statues in the Tuileries amid the massacres ofthe First Revolution, and spared the architecture of antiquity when theybombarded the city of the Caesars?

Consider, too, the growing love for art in practical America; remark thecrowds of newly rich who deck their houses with pictures and busts, eventhough they cannot always appreciate them; remember that nearly everyprominent town in the country has its theatre; that the opera, the mostrefined luxury of European civilization, considered for long an affectationbeyond every other, is relished here as decidedly as in Italy or France. InNew York, Boston, Cincinnati, Philadelphia, and New Orleans, there arebuildings exclusively appropriated to this new form of art, this exotic,expensive amusement. These opera-houses, too, illustrate most aptly theprogress of other arts. They are adorned with painting and gilding andcarving; they are as sumptuous in accommodation as the palaces of Europeanpotentates; they are lighted with a brilliancy that Aladdin's garden neverrivalled; they are thronged, with crowds as gayly dressed as those thatfill the saloons of Parisian belles; and the singers and actors whointerpret the thoughts of mighty foreign masters are the same who delightthe Emperor of the French when he pays a visit to the Queen of GreatBritain and Ireland. Orchestras of many instruments discourse most eloquentmusic, and involuted strains are criticized in learned style, in capitalsthousands of miles from the seashore. And there is no appreciation of artin all this! there is no embodiment of the love of the age for materialmagnificence, there is no poetry incarnated into form, in this combinationof splendors rivalling the opium-eater's visions! The Americans are a dull,stupid people, immersed in business; art has no effect upon them; it isdespised among them; it can never prosper here!

The stage, indeed, in its various forms, seems more fully to manifest andillustrate the artistic influence among Americans than any other art. Itoften addresses those whom more refined solicitations might neverreach. Those who would turn from Church's or Page's pictures withindifference are frequently attracted by the representations in a theatre.The pictures there are more alive, more real, more intense, and fascinatemany unable to appreciate the recondite charms of the canvas. The grace ofattitude, the splendid expression, the intellectual art of Ristori orRachel may impress those who fail to discover the same merits in colderstone, in Crawford's marble or the statues of Palmer; and they maysometimes learn to relish even the delicate beauties of Shakspeare's text,from hearing it fitly declaimed, who would never spell out its meaning bythemselves. The drama is certainly superior to other arts while its reignlasts, because of its veriness, its actuality. He must be dull ofimagination, indeed, who cannot give himself up for a while to itsillusions; he must be stupid who cannot open his senses to its delights orwaken his intellect to receive its influences.

Neither can a taste for the stage be declared one which only the ignorantor vulgar share. Though away in the wilds of California a theatre was oftenerected next after a hotel, the second building in a town, and thestrolling player would summon the miners by his trumpet when not one was insight, and instantly a swarm peeped forth from the earth, like the armedmen who sprang from the furrows that Cadmus ploughed,--though the wildestand rudest of Western cities and the wildest and rudest inhabitants ofWestern towns are quick to acknowledge the charms of the stage,--yet alsothe most highly cultured and the most intellectual Americans pay the sametribute to this art. We have all seen, within a few years, one of the mostprofound scholars and most prominent divines in the country proclaiming hisapprobation of the drama. We may find, to-day, in any Eastern city, membersof the liberal clergy at an opera, and sometimes at a play. The scholarsand writers and artists and thinkers, as well as the people of leisure andof fashion, frequent places of amusement, not only for amusement, but tocultivate their tastes, to exercise their intellects, ay, and oftentimes torefine their hearts. The splendid homage paid in England not long ago tothe drama, when the highest nobility and the first statesmen in the landwere present at a banquet in honor of Charles Kean, is evidence enough thatno puerile or uncultivated taste is this which relishes the theatre. Goethepresiding over the playhouse at Weimar, Euripides and Sophocles writingtragedies, the greatest genius of the English language acting in his ownproductions at the Globe Theatre, people like Siddons and Kean and Cushmanand Macready illustrating this art with the resources of their fineintellects and great attainments,--surely these need scarcely be mentioned,to relieve the drama from the reproach that some would put upon it, ofpuerility.

New York is, perhaps, more of a representative city than any other in theland. It is an aggregation from all the other portions of the country; itis the result, the precipitate, of the whole. It has no distinctive,individual character of its own; it is a condensation of all the rest, afocus. Thither all the country goes at times. Restless, fitful, changing,yet still the same in its change; like the waves of the sea, that toss androll and move away, and still the mighty mass is ever there. New York, inits various phases and developments, its crowded and cosmopolitanpopulation, its out-door kaleidoscopic splendor, is indeed a representativeof the entire country. It has not the purely literary life of Boston, norso distinctive an intellectual character; it is not so stamped by theimpress of olden times as Philadelphia; but it has an outside garbsignificant of the inward nature. It is like the face of a great actor,splendid in expression, full of character, changing with a thousandchanging emotions, but betraying a great soul beneath them all. New York isartistic just as America is artistic, just as the age is artistic: not,perhaps, in the loftiest or most refined sense, but in the sense that artis an expression, in tangible form, of ideas. New York is a great thoughtuttered. It is like those fruits or seeds which germinate by turningthemselves inside out; the soul is on the outside, crusted all over it, butnone the less soul for all that.

And New York illustrates this idea of the drama being the representativeart of to-day. The theatre there, including the opera, is a greatestablished fact,--as important nearly as it was in the palmiest days ofthe Athenian republic, or on the road to be of as much consequence as it isin Paris, the representative city of the world. Fifty thousand peoplenightly crowd twenty different theatres in New York. From the splendidhalls where Grisi and Gazzaniga and La Borde and La Grange have by turnstranslated into sound the ideas of Meyerbeer and Bellini and Donizetti andMozart, to the little rooms where sixpenny tickets procure lager-beer aswell as music for the purchaser, the drama is worshipped. And this not onlyby New-Yorkers: not only do those who lead the busy, excited life of themetropolis acquire a taste, as some might say, for a factitious excitement,but all strangers hasten to the theatres. The sober farmer, the citizensfrom plodding interior towns, the gay Southerners, accustomed almostexclusively to social amusements, the denizens of rival Bostons andPhiladelphias all frequent the operas and playhouses of New York. When thericher portion of its inhabitants have left the hot and sultry town, or, inmid-winter, are immersed in the more exclusive pleasures of fashionablelife, even then the theatres are thronged; and in September and October youshall find all parts of the country represented in their boxes andparquets,--proving that this is not an exclusively metropolitan taste, thatit is shared by the whole nation, that in this also New York is trulyrepresentative.

Boston typifies a peculiar phase of American life; it is the illustration,the exponent, of the cultivated side of our nationality; its thought, itsaction, its character are taken abroad as symbols of the national thoughtand action and character, in whatever relates to literature or art. TheProfessor said truly, Boston does really in some sort stand for the brainof America. Well the brain of America appreciates the stage. It is but afew months since the culture and distinction of Boston nightly crowded asmall and inferior theatre, to witness the personations of the young geniuswho is destined at no distant day to rival the proudest names of the drama.The most brilliant successes Edwin Booth has yet achieved have beenachieved in Boston; scholars and wits and poets and professors crowd theboxes when he plays; women of talent write poems in his praise and publishthem in the "Atlantic Monthly"; professors of Harvard College send himcongratulatory letters; artists paint and carve his intellectual beauty;and fashion follows in the wake of intellect, alike acknowledging hismerits. Boston recognized those merits, too, when they were first presentedto its appreciation; and now that they verge nearer upon maturity, herappreciation is quickened and her applause redoubled. It cannot be saidthat the taste or culture of the nation is indifferent to histrionicexcellence, when absolute excellence is found.

No other art is yet on such a footing among us. Neither is this because ofour partially developed civilization. It is equally so abroad; where thenations are oldest and best established in culture, there, too, a similarstate of things exists. No school in painting, no style of sculpture, nokind of architecture has made such an impression on the age as its music,as its dramatic music, its opera. This speaks to all nations, in alllanguages. No writer, though he write like Tennyson, or Longfellow, orLamartine, or Dudevant, can hope for such an audience as Verdi orMeyerbeer. No orator speaks to such crowds as Rossini; no Everett orKossuth, or Gavazzi or Spurgeon, has so many listeners as Donizetti. Forthe stage is the art of to-day,--perhaps more especially, but still not,exclusively, the operatic stage; the theatre in its various formsrepresents the feeling of the time so as Grecian and Gothic architectureand Italian painting have in their time done for their time,--so as nopictures, no architecture, no statuary can now do. Painting and statuary,when they do anything towards representing this age, incarnate the dramaticspirit; the literature that has most influence today is journalism,--theeffective, present, actual, short-lived, dramatic newspaper, where all theactors speak for themselves: other literature has its listeners, but itlags behind; other art has its appreciators, but it cannot keep pace withthe march of armies, with the rush to California, with the swarm toAustralia; there is no art on these outskirts but the dramatic. Thattravels with the advancing mass in every exodus; that went with Dr. Kane tothe North Pole (he had private theatricals aboard the Resolute); that alonegave utterance immediately to the latest cry of humanity in the ItalianWar.

Neither can it be said that the theatre has no more consequence now than ithas always enjoyed. At the time when Gothic architects and Italian paintersexpressed the meaning of their own ages, there was nothing like a realdrama in existence, and the Roman theatre was never comparable withours. The Greeks, indeed, had a stage which was an important element oftheir civilization, and which took the character of their time, giving andreceiving influence; but their stage was essentially different from that ofthe moderns. Its success did not depend upon the individual performer; itspageantry was perhaps as splendid as what we now see; but the play of thecountenance, that great intellectual opportunity offered an actor by ourdrama, was not known. In this see also a characteristic of the presentage. Individuality is a distinctive peculiarity of the nineteenth century;it has been for centuries gradually becoming more possible; but every mannow works his own way, acts himself, more completely than everbefore. Therefore appropriate is it that the drama should give importanceto the individual, and allow a great actor to incarnate and illustrate inhis own form and face feelings and passions that formerly were only hintedat; for remember that the Greek players usually wore masks, while theiramphitheatres were so large that in any event the expression of thefeatures was lost.

With this individuality, this opportunity for each to develop his ownidentity and intensity, the nineteenth century strangely combines anotherpeculiarity, that of association. All these units, these atoms, somarvellously distinct, are incorporated into one grand whole; though eachbe more, by and of himself, than ever before, yet the great power, thegreat motor, is the mass. The mass is made powerful by the added importancegiven to each individual. And you may trace without conceit a state ofthings behind the scenes very similar to this in front of thefootlights. In the theatre, also, the many workers contribute to a grandresult. The manager would be as powerless in his little empire, withoutimportant assistants, as a monarch without ministers and people. What makesthe French army and the American so irresistible is the thought that eachprivate is more than a machine, is an intellectual being, understands whathis general wants, fights with his bayonet at Solferino or his musket atMonterey on his own account, yet subject to the supreme control. And thetheatre, with all its actors and scene-painters and costumers andcarpenters and musicians, is only an army on a different scale. The forcesof the stage answer to the generals and colonels, the marshals andprivates, all marching and working and fighting for the same end. Thosesplendid dramatic triumphs of Charles Kean were only illustrations of theprinciple of association,--only illustrations of the readiness of the stageto adapt itself to the times, to seize hold of whatever is suggested by theoutside world, to appropriate the discoveries of Layard and the revelationsof Science to its own uses,--illustrations, too, of the importance of theindividual Kean, as well as of the crowd of clever subordinates.

That the theatre feels this reflex influence, that it appreciates all thatis going on around it, that it is not asleep, that it is penetrated withthe spirit of the century, whether that spirit be good or evil, theselection of plays now popular is another proof. In France, where thesuccess of the histrionic art now culminates, a contemporaneous drama isflourishing, the absolute society of the day is represented. That societyhas faults, and the stage mirrors them. "La Dame aux Camelias," "Les Fillesde Marbre," "Le Demi-Monde" reflect exactly the peculiarities of the lifethey aim to imitate. And these very plays, whose influence is so oftencondemned, would never have had the popularity they have attained in nearlyevery city of the civilized world, had there not been Marguerite Gautiersand Traviatas outside of Paris as well as in it. Another attempt, perhapsnot an entirely successful one, but still a significant attempt, has beenmade in this country to produce a contemporaneous drama. "Jessie Brown" and"The Poor of New York," and other plays directly daguerreotyping ordinaryincidents, at any rate show that the drama is an art that respondsinstantly to the pulses of the time.

But it ia not necessary for the stage to daguerreotype; it mirrors moretruly when it embodies the spirit. And never before was there an age whosespirit was more theatrical, in the best sense of the term; full of outsideexpression, but also full of inside feeling; working, accomplishing,putting into actual form its ideas; incarnating its passions; intellectual,yet passionate; lofty in imagination, yet practical in exemplification;showy, but significantly showy,--theatrical. An art, then, that is allthis, surely expresses as no other art does or can the character of thenineteenth century,--surely is the representative art.

* * * * *

ROBA DI ROMA.

THE EVIL EYE AND OTHER SUPERSTITIONS.

I have already, in a former article, spoken of some of the superstitionsbelonging to the Church which are prevalent in Italy; but there are other,and, so to speak, _lay_ superstitions, which also claim a place,--and tothem this chapter shall be dedicated.

It is dangerous ground, a twilight marsh, where the will-o'-wisps light us,over which I propose to lead you; and had I not armed myself with all sortsof amulets, I should shrink from the enterprise. But the famous weapon withwhich Luther drove away the Evil One is at my side, potent as evil, I hope,so long as a pen can be put into it,--and Saint Dunstan's friend is in thecorner, ready, at a pinch, for service; and having shut out all thosespirits which so sorely tempted Saint Anthony, and locked my door to darkeyes and blue eyes and dark hair and blonde hair, I may hope to get throughmy dangerous chapter, and--

Strange fatality!--one of Saint Anthony's spirits tempts me from the otherroom, even at the moment I boast; but I resist,--manfully dipping my peninto Luther's stronghold,--and it vanishes, and leaves me face to facewith--the Evil Eye. Yes! it is the Evil Eye, the _Jettatura_ of Italy, thatwe are boldly to face for an hour.

This is one of the oldest and most interesting superstitions that have comedown to us from the past; and as it still lives and flourishes in Italywith a singular vitality and freshness, it may be worth while to trace itback to some of its early sources. Its birth-place was the East, where itexisted in dillomnt forms amongst almost every people. Thence it wasimported into Greece, where it was called _Baskania_, and was adopted bythe Romans under the name of _Fascinum_. Solomon himself alludes to it inthe Book of Wisdom. Isigonus relates that among the Triballi and Illyriithere were men who by a glance fascinated and killed those whom they lookedupon with angry eyes; and Nymphodorus asserts that there were fascinatorswhose voices had the power to destroy flocks, to blast trees, and to killinfants. In Scythia, also, according to Apollonides, there were women ofthis class, "_quoe vocantur Bithyoe_"; and Phylarchus says that in Pontusthere was a tribe, called the Thibii, and many others, of the same natureand having the same powers. The testimony of Algazeli is to the sameeffect; and he adds, that these fascinators have a peculiar power overwomen. We have also the testimony of Aristotle, Pliny, and Plutarch, whoall speak as believers, while Solinus enumerates certain families offascinators who exerted their influence _voce et lingua_, and Philostratusmakes special mention of Apolloius Thyaneus as having been possessed ofthese wonderful powers. Indeed, nearly all the old writers agree inrecognizing the existence of the faculty of fascination; and among theRomans it was so universally admitted, that in the "Decemvirales Tabulae"there was a law prohibiting the exercise of it under a capitalpenalty:--"_Ne pelliciunto alienas segeles, excantando, ne incantando; neagrum defraudanto._" Some jurisconsults skilled in the ancient law say thatboys are sometimes fascinated by the burning eyes of these infected men soas to lose all their health and strength. Pliny relates that one CaiusFurius Cresinus, a freedman, having been very successful in cultivating hisfarms, became an object of envy, and was publicly accused of poisoning byarts of fascination his neighbors' fruits; whereupon he brought into theForum his daughter, ploughs, tools, and oxen, and, pointing to them,said,--"These which I have brought, and my labor, sweat, watching, andcare, (which I cannot bring,) are all my arts." Let those who consider themoving of tables as wonderful listen to the surprising statement of Plinyas to an occurrence in his own time, when a whole olive-orchard belongingto a certain Vectius Marcellus, a Roman knight, crossed over the publicway, and took its place, ground and all, on the other side. [Footnote:Plinii _Nat. Hist._ Lib. xvii. cap. 38.] This same fact is also alluded toby Virgil in his Eighth Eclogue, on _Pharmaceutria_ (all of which, by theway, he stole from Theocritus):--

"Atque satas alio vidi traducere messes."

"Now," says the worthy Vairus, who has written an elaborate treatise onthis subject in Latin, well worthy to be examined, "let no man laugh atthese stories as old wives' tales, (_aniles nugas_,) nor, because thereason passes our knowledge, let us turn them into ridicule, for infiniteare the things which we cannot understand, (_infinita enim prope suntquorum rationem adipisci nequimus_); but rather than turn all miracles outof Nature because we cannot understand them, let us make that fact thebeginning and reason of investigation. For does not Solomon in his Book ofWisdom say, '_Fascinatio malignitatis obscurat bona'?_ and does not DominusPaulus cry out to the Galatians, '_O insensati Galatoe, quis vosfascinavit'?_ which the best interpreters admit to refer to those whoseburning eyes (_oculos urentes_) with a single look blast all persons, andespecially boys."

It seems to have been a peculiarity in the superstitions as to the_fascinum_, that boys and women were specially susceptible to itsinfluence; and in this respect, as well as in some of the symptoms offascination, it bears a curious resemblance to the effects of modernwitchcraft as practised in New England. Dionysius Carthusianus, speaking ofthe nomad tribes of the Biarmii and Amaxobii, who, according to him, weremost skilful fascinators, says that they so affected persons with theircurse that they lost their freedom of will and became insane and idiotic,and often wasted away in extreme leanness and corruption, and so perished:"_ut liberi non sint nec mentis compotes, soepe ad extremam maciemdeveniant, et tabescendo dispereant._" Olaus Magnus agrees with him inthese symptoms; and Hieronymus says, that, when infants suddenly grow lean,waste away, twist about as if in pain, and sometimes scream out and cry ina wonderful way, you may be certain that they have been fascinated. This,to be sure, looks mightily like a diagnosis for worms; but we would notmeasure our wits with the grave Hieronymus. Still, as an amulet againstsuch fascination, "Jaynes's Vermifuge" might be suggested as efficient, orat least a grain or two of _Santonina_.

In Abyssinia, it is supposed that men who work in iron or pottery arepeculiarly endowed with this fatal power of fascination, and in consequenceof this prejudice they are expelled from society and even from theprivilege of partaking of the holy sacrament. They are known by the name of_Buda_, and, though excluded from the more sacred rites of the Church,profess great respect for religion, and are surpassed by none in thestrictness of their fasts. All convulsions and hysterical disorders areattributed to these unfortunate artificers; and they are also supposed tohave the power of changing themselves into hyenas and other ravenousbeasts. Nathaniel Pearce, the African traveller, relates that theAbyssinians are so fully convinced that these unhappy men are in the habitof rifling graves in their character of hyenas, that no one will venture toeat _quareter_ or dried meat in their houses, nor any flesh, unless it beraw, or unless they have seen it killed. These Budas usually wear earringsof a peculiar shape, and Pearce states that he has frequently seen them inthe ears of hyenas that have been caught or trapped, and confesses, that,although he had taken considerable pains to investigate the subject, he hadnever been able to discover how these ornaments came there; and Mr. Coffin,his friend, relates a story of one of these transformations which tookplace under his own eyes. [Footnote: Herodotus makes the same statement asto the Buda. "They are said to be evil-minded and enchanters," he says,"that for a day every year change themselves into wolves. This theScythians and Greeks who dwell there affirm with great oaths. But they donot persuade me of it."--Herod. Lib. iii. cap. 7.

See on this subject _Life and Adventures of Nathaniel Pearce_, and _Nubiaand Abyssinia_, by Rev. Michael Russell. Petronius's story of a Versipellesis well known.]

This is the old superstition of the were-wolf, which existed also among theGreeks and Romans. Those endowed with this power of transforming themselvesinto beasts were called _Versipelles_. Pliny makes mention of them, andcites from a Greek author the case of a man "who lived nine years in theshape of a wolf"; but, credulous as he is, he says that the superstition"is a fabulous opinion, not worthy of credit." For myself, I can say that Ihave known many men who were wolves; and we all remember what Queen Labeused to do with her lovers.

Fascination was of two kinds, moral and natural. Those in whom the powerwas moral could exert it only by the exercise of their will; but those inwhom it was natural could but keep exercising it unconsciously. And theselatter were the most terrible. It is generally explained by ancient writersas being a power of the spirit or imagination, (as they termed it.)exhibited in persons of a peculiar organization, and diffusing _radiossalutares vel perniciosos_. Though the terms employed by them, as well astheir notions of its origin, are very unphilosophical and vague, it isplain that they considered it as a species of mesmeric or biologic power,operating by nervous impression. The fascinator generally endeavored toprovoke in his victims an excited and pleased attention, for in thiscondition they were peculiarly predisposed to his influence. And inasmuchas persons are thrown off their guard of reserve and attracted by praise,those who flattered excessively were looked upon with suspicion; and it wasa universally recognized rule of good manners and morals, that every one inpraising another should be careful not to do so immoderately, lest heshould fascinate even against his will. Hieronymus Fracastorius, in histreatise "On Sympathy and Antipathy," thus states the fact and thephilosophy,--and who shall dare gainsay the conclusions of one so learnedin science, medicine, and astrology as this distinguished man?--"We read,"he says, "that there were certain families in Crete who fascinated bypraising, and this is doubtless quite possible. For as there exists in thenature of some persons a poison which is ejaculated through their eyes byevil spirits, there is no reason why infants and even grown persons shouldnot be peculiarly injured by this fascination of praise. For praise createsa peculiar pleasure, and pleasure in turn, as we have already said, firstdilates and opens the heart and then the spirit, and then the whole faceand especially the eyes,--so that all these doors are opened to receive thepoison which is ejaculated by the fascinator. Wherefore it is most proper,whenever we intend to praise a person, that we should warn him, and usesome form to avert the ill effects of our words, as by saying, 'May it beof no injury to you!' There are, indeed, some, who, when they are praised,avert their faces, not to indicate that praise in itself is unpleasant, butto avoid fascination; it being thought that fascination is often effectedby means of praise";[1] or in other words, the poison being given in thehoney of flattery. Now in order to close up this _dilatationem_ or openingof the system, a _corona baccaris_ was worn, which, by its odoriferous andconstipating qualities, produced this effect, as Dioscorides assures us.[2]Virgil, in his Seventh Eclogue, alludes to the same, antidote:--

Tertullian, in his work "De Virginibus Velandis," states the same fact asFracastorius, and says that among the heathens there are persons who arepossessed of a terrible somewhat which they call _Fascinum_, effected byexcessive praise: _"Nam est aliquod etiam apud Ethnicos metuendum, quodFascinum vocant, infeliciorem laudis et gloriae enormioris eventum_."

To avert this evil influence, every well-mannered person among the ancientssaid, "_Proefiscine_," before wishing well to another,--as clearly appearsfrom the following passage cited by Charisius [Footnote: _Inst. Gram._Lib. iv.] from Titinius in "Setina." One person exclaims, "_Paula mea,amabo----_" Whereupon a friend who stands by says, "He was going to praisePaula!" "_Ecce qui loquitur, Paulam puellam laudare parabat!_" And anotherfriend present cries out, "By Pollux! you should better say,'_Proefiscini_,' or you may fascinate her": "_Pol! tu in laudem additoProefiscini, ne puella fascinaretur_." [Footnote: See also Turnebi_Comm. in Orat. Sec. contra P.S. Rullum de Leg. Agrar._ M.T. Ciceronis.]This same custom exists at the present day among the Turks, who alwaysaccompany a compliment to you or to anything belonging to you with thephrase, _"Mashallah!"_ (God be praised!)--thus referring the good gifts youpossess to the Higher Spirit. To omit this is a breach of courtesy, and insuch case the other person instantly adds it in order to avert fascination;for the superstition is, that, if this phrase be omitted, we may seem torefer all good gifts to our own merit instead of God's grace, and soprovoke the divine wrath. The same custom also exists in Italy; and thecommon reply to any salutation in which your looks or health may becomplimented is, "_Grazia a Dio!_" In some parts of Italy, if you praise apretty child in the street, or even if you look earnestly at it, the nursewill be sure to say, "_Dio la benedica!_" so as to cut off all ill-luck;and if you happen to be walking with a child and catch any person watchingit, such person will invariably employ some such phrase to show you that hedoes not mean to do it injury, or to cast a spell of _jettatura_ uponit. The modern Greeks are even more jealous of praise, and if youcompliment a child of theirs, you are expected to spit three times at himand say, [Greek: Na maen baskanthaes], ("May no evil come to you!") ormutter [Greek: Skordo], ("Garlic,") which has a special power as acounter-charm. So, too, in Corsica, the peasants are strict believers inthe _jettatura_ of praise, which they call _l'annocchiatura_,--supposing,that, if any evil influence attend you, your good wishes will turn intocurses. They are therefore very careful in praising, and sometimes expressthemselves in language the very reverse of what they intend,--as, "'_Va,coquine!'_ says Bandalaccio, in M. Merimee's pleasant story of "Colomba,"'_sois excommuniee, sois maudite, friponne!' Car Bandalaccio, superstitieuxcomme tous les bandits, craignait de fasciner les enfans en les addressantles benedictions et les eloges. On sait que les puissances mysterieuses quipresident a l'annocchiatura ont la mauvaise habitude d'executer lecontraire de nos souhaits._" Perhaps our familiar habit of calling ourchildren "scamp" and "rascal," when we are caressing them, may be foundedon a worn-out superstition of the same kind.

But it is not only praise administered by others which may inflict evilupon us,--we must also be specially careful not to have too "gude a conceitof ourselves," lest we thereby draw down upon us the fate of a certainEutelidas, who, having regarded his image in the water with peculiarself-satisfaction and laudation, immediately lost his health, and from thattime forward was afflicted with sore diseases. During a supper at the houseof Metrius Florus, where, among others, Plutarch, Soclarus, and Caius, theson-in-law of Florus, were guests, a curious and interesting conversationtook place on the subject of the _Fascinum_, which is reported by Plutarchin one of his Symposia. The existence of the power of fascination wasadmitted by all, and a philosophical explanation of its phenomena wasattempted. In reply to some suggestions of Plutarch, Soclarus says there isno doubt that their ancestors fully believed in this power, and then citesthe case of Eutelidas as being well known to his auditors, and celebratedby some poet in these lines:--

"Eutelidas was once a beauteous youth, But, luckless, in the wave his face beholding, Himself he fascinates, and pines away." [1]

[Footnote 1: Plutarchi _Symp_. V. Prob. VII.]

Fascination was excited by touch, voice, and look. The fascination by touchwas simply mesmerism, or rather the biology of the present day, in anundeveloped stage. There were said to be four qualities oftouch,--_calidus, humidus, frigidus, et siccus_, or hot, cold, moist, anddry,--according to which persons were active or passive in the exercise ofthe fascinum. Its function was double, by raising or by lowering thearm,--"_modo per arteriae elevationem, modo per ejusdem submissionem_" saysthe worthy Vairits; "for," he continues, "when the artery is thrown out andis open, the spirits are emitted with wonderful celerity, and in someimperceptible manner are carried to the thing to fascinate it. And becausethe artery has its origin in the heart, the spirits issuing thence retainits infected and vitiated nature, and according to its depravity fascinateand destroy."

This power of touch is recognized in all history and in all climes. All whosaw Christ desired to touch his garment, and so receive some healingvirtue; and his miracles of cure he almost always performed by hishand. When the woman who had the issue of blood came behind him and touchedhim, Jesus asked who touched him, and said,--"Somebody hath touched me; forI perceive that virtue is gone out of me." It has always been a popularsuperstition that the scrofula could be cured by the touch of a king or ofthe seventh son of a seventh son. The old belief that the body of amurdered man would distill blood, if his murderer's hand were placed onhim, is also of the same class.

Descending to the sphere of animals, we find some curious facts havingrelation to this power. The electrical eel, for instance, has the facultyof overcoming and numbing his prey by this means. And among the Arabs,according to Gerard, the French lion-killer, whoever inhales the breath ofthe lion goes mad.

Dr. Livingstone, in his interesting travels in South Africa, makes acurious statement bearing upon this subject. He was out shooting lions oneday, when, "after having shot once, just," he says, "as I was in the act oframming down the bullets, I heard a shout. Starting and looking half round,I saw the lion just in the act of springing upon me. I was upon a littleheight; he caught my shoulder as he sprang, and we both came to the groundbelow together. Growling horribly close to my ear, he shook me as aterrier-dog does a rat. The shock produced a stupor similar to that whichseems to be felt by a mouse after the first shake of the cat. It caused asort of dreaminess, in which there was no sense of pain nor feeling ofterror, though quite conscious of all that was happening. It was like whatpatients partially under the influence of chloroform describe, who see allthe operation, but feel not the knife. This singular condition was not theresult of any mental process. The shake annihilated fear, and allowed nosense of horror in looking round at the beast. This peculiar state isprobably produced in all animals killed by the _carnivora_, and, if so, isa merciful provision by our benevolent Creator for lessening the pain ofdeath."

The next method of fascination was by the Voice. Aristotle speaks of it asthe cause of fascination, and says that the mere sound of the fascinator'svoice has this wondrous power, independently of his good or ill will, aswell as of the words he uses. And Alexander Aphrodisiensis calls thefascinators poisoners, who poison their victim by intently looking at him_carmine prolato_, "with a measured song or cadence." The same peculiarityis observable in all experiments with the moving tables or rapping spirits,which are more successful when accompanied by constant music. Circefascinated with incantation; and the Psalmist alludes to it as a means ofcharming. Serpents, as well as men, are thus charmed. Virgil says, that, ifto this incantation by words certain herbs are joined, the fascinationworks with more terrible effect:--

It is related of a certain magician, that, when he whispered in the ear ofa bull, he could prostrate him to the earth as if he were dead; [Footnote:Vairus, _De Fascino_. p. 24.] and in our own time we have had an exampleof the same wonderful faculty in Sullivan, the famous horse-whisperer,whose secret died with him, or, at least, never was made public. Pliny alsorelates, that tigers are rendered so furious by the sound of the drum, thatthey often end by tearing themselves limb from limb in their rage; but I amafraid this is one of Pliny's stories. Plutarch, however, agrees with himin this belief.[Footnote: Plut. _Praecepta Conjugialia_.]

And next as to the Evil Eye ([Greek: ophthalmos baskanos]). From theearliest ages of the world, the potency of the eye in fascination has beenrecognized. "Nihil oculo nequius creatum" says the Preacher; and thephilosopher calls it alter animus, "another spirit." "It sends forth itsrays," says Vairus, "like spears and arrows, to charm the hearts of men":"veluti jacula et sagittae ad effascinandorum corda." And it carriesdisease and death, as well as love and delight, in its course: "Totumquecorpus inficiunt, atque ita (nulla interposita mora) arbores, segetes,bruta animalia et homines perniciosa qualitate inficiunt et ad interitumdeducunt." Vairus relates that a friend of his saw a fascinator simply witha look break in two a precious gem while in the hands of the artist who wasworking upon it. Horace thua alludes to it:--

Among the diseases given by a glance are ophthalmia and jaundice, say theancients; and in these cases, the fascinator loses the disease as hisvictim takes it A similar peculiarity is to be remarked in the superstitionof the basilisk, who kills, if he sees first, but when he is seen first,dies. No animals, it is said, can bear the steady gaze of man, and thereare some persons who by this means seem to exercise a wonderful power overthem. Animals, however, have sometimes their revenge on man. It is an oldsuperstition, that he whom the wolf sees first loses his voice. Amongthemselves, also, they use this power of charming,--as in the case of theserpent, who thus attracts the bird, and of the toad, the "jewels in whosehead" have a like magical influence. Dr. Andrew Smith, in his excellentwork on "Reptilia," gives the following interesting account of the power ofthe serpent, and of other animals, to fascinate their prey. Speaking of the_Bucephalus Capetisis_, he says,--

"It is generally found upon trees, to which it resorts for the purpose ofcatching birds, on which it delights to feed. The presence of a specimen ina tree is generally soon discovered by the birds of the neighborhood, whocollect round it and fly to and fro, uttering the most piercing cries,until some one, more terror-struck than the rest, actually scans its lips,and, almost without resistance, becomes a meal for its enemy. During such aproceeding, the snake is generally observed with its head raised about tenor twelve inches above the branch round which its body and tail areentwined, with its mouth open and its neck inflated, as if anxiouslyendeavoring to increase the terror, which it would almost appear it wasaware would sooner or later bring within its grasp some one of thefeathered group.

"Whatever may be said in ridicule of fascination, it is nevertheless truethat birds, and even quadrupeds, are, under certain circumstances, unableto retire from the presence of certain of their enemies, and, what is evenmore extraordinary, unable to resist the propensity to advance from asituation of actual safety into one of the most imminent danger. This Ihave often seen exemplified in the case of birds and snakes; and I haveheard of instances equally curious, in which antelopes and other quadrupedshave been so bewildered by the sudden appearance of crocodiles, and by thegrimaces and distortions they practised, as to be unable to fly or evenmove from the spot towards which they were approaching to seize them."

The fascination which fire and flame exercise upon certain insects is wellknown, and the beautiful moths which so painfully insist on sacrificingthemselves in our candle are the commonplaces of poets and lovers. They aregenerally supposed to be attracted by the light and ignorantly to rush totheir destruction; but this simple explanation does not fully account forall the facts. Dr. Livingstone says, that "fire exercises a fascinatingeffect upon some kinds of toads. They may be seen rushing into it in theevenings, without even starting back on feeling pain. Contact with the hotembers rather increases the energy with which they strive to gain thehottest parts, and they never cease their struggles for the centre evenwhen their juices are coagulating and their limbs stiffening in theroasting heat. Various insects also are thus fascinated; but the scorpionsmay be seen coming away from the fire in fierce disgust, and they are soirritated as to inflict at that time their most painful stings."

May it not be that flame exercises upon certain insects and animals aninfluence similar to that produced upon man by the moon, rendering them madwhen subjected too long to its influence? Is not the moon the Evil Eye ofthe night?

A curious story, bearing upon this subject, is told in one of a series ofinteresting articles in "Household Words," called "Wanderings in India."The author is talking with an old soldier about a cobra-capello, which hasbeen known to the latter for thirteen years.

"This cobra," says the soldier, "has never offered to do me any harm; andwhen I sing, as I sometimes do when I am alone here at work on some tomb orother, he will crawl up and listen for two or three hours together. Onemorning, while he was listening, he came in for a good meal, which lastedhim some days."

"How was that?"

"I will tell you, Sir. A minar was chased by a small hawk, and, in despair,came and perched itself on the top of a most lofty tomb at which I was atwork. The hawk, with his eyes fixed intently on his prey, did not, I fancy,see the snake lying motionless in the grass; or, if he did see him, he didnot think he was a snake, but something else,--my crowbar, perhaps. After alittle while, the hawk pounced down, and was just about to give the minar ablow and a grip, when the snake suddenly lifted his head, raised his hood,and hissed. The hawk gave a shriek, fluttered, flapped his wings with allhis might, and tried very hard to fly away. But it would not do. Strong asthe eye of the hawk was, the eye of the snake was stronger. The hawk, for atime, seemed suspended in the air; but at last he was obliged to come downand sit opposite the old gentleman, (the snake,) who commenced with hisforked tongue, and keeping his eyes on him all the while, to slime hisvictim all over. This occupied him for at least forty minutes, and by thetime the process was over the hawk was perfectly motionless. I don't thinkhe was dead,--but he was very soon, however, for the old gentleman put himinto a coil or two and crackled up every bone in the hawk's body. He thengave him another sliming, made a big mouth, distended his neck till it wasas big round as the thickest part of my arm, and down went the hawk like ashin of beef into a beggar-man's bag." [Footnote: _Household Words_,Jan. 23, 1858, vol. xvii., P. 139.]

The same writer, in another paper, relates a case in which he was cured ofa violent attack of _tic-douloureux_, from which he "suffered extremeagonies," by the steady gaze of a native doctor, who was called in for thepurpose. He used no other method than a fixed, steady gaze, making nomesmeric passes; and in this way he cured his patients by "locking up theireyes," as he termed it. His power seemed to have been very great; and whatis curious is, that, "with one exception, and that was in the case of aKeranu, a half-caste, no patient had ever fallen asleep or had become'_beehosh_' (unconscious) under his gaze." He related several cases, one ofwhich was of "a sahib who had gone mad," drink-delirious. "His wife wouldnot suffer him to be strapped down, and he was so violent that it took fouror five other sahibs to hold him. I was sent for, and at first had greatdifficulty with him, and much trembling. At last, however, I locked hiseyes up as soon as I got him to look at me, and kept him, for severalhours, as quiet as a mouse. I stayed with him two days, and whatever I toldhim to do he did immediately. When I got his eyes fixed on mine, he couldnot take them away,--could not move."

All these different kinds of fascination have now become united togetherand go under the general name of _Jettatura_, in Italy, though the eye isconsidered as the most potent and terrible charmer. The superstition isuniversal, and pervades all modes of thought among the ignorant classes,but its sanctuary is Naples. There it is as much a matter of faith as theMadonna and San Gennaro. Every coral-shop is filled with amulets, andeverybody wears a counter-charm,--ladies on their arms, gentlemen on theirwatch-chains, lazzaroni on their necks. If you are going to Italy,--and asall the world now goes to Italy, you will join the endless caravan, ofcourse,--it becomes a matter of no small importance for you to know thesigns by which you may recognize the fascinator, and the means by which youmay avert his evil influence; for, should you fall in his way and beunprotected, direful, indeed, might be the consequences. Sudden disease,like a pestilence at mid-day, might seize you, and on those lovely shoresyou might pine away and die. Dreadful accidents might overwhelm you andbury all your happiness forever. Therefore be wise in time.

"Women," says Vairus, "have more power to fascinate than men"; but thereason he gives will not, I fear, recommend itself to the sex,--for theworthy _padre_ feared women as devils. According to him, their evilinfluence results from their unbridled passions: "_Quia irascendi etconcupiscendi animi vim adeo effrenatam habent, ut nullo modo ab ira etcupiditate sese temperare valeant_." (Certainly, he _is_ a wretch.) But itwill be some consolation to know that the young and beautiful have far lesspower for evil than "little old women," (_aniculas_,) and for these youmust specially look out. But most of all to be dreaded, male or female, arethose who are lean and melancholy by temperament, ("lean and hungryCassiuses,") and who have double pupils in their eyes, or in one eye adouble pupil and in the other the figure of a horse. Perhaps Mr. Squeersand all of his kind come within this class, as having more than one pupilalways in their eye,--but, specially, this rule would seem to warn usagainst jockey schoolmasters, with a horse in one eye and several pupils inthe other. Those, too, are dangerous, according to Didymus, who havehollow, pit-like eyes, sunken under concave orbits, with great projectingeyebrows,--as well as those who emit a disagreeable odor from theirarmpits, (_con rispetto_,) and are remarkable for a general squalor ofcomplexion and appearance. Persons also are greatly to be suspected whosquint, or have sea-green, shining, terrible eyes. "One of these," saysDidymus, "I knew,--a certain Spaniard, whose name it is not permitted me tomention,--who, with black and angry countenance and truculent eyes, havingreprimanded his servant for something or other, the latter was so overcomeby fear and terror, that he was not only affected with fascination, buteven deprived of his reason, and a melancholic humor attacking his wholebody, he became utterly insane, and, in the very house of his master, nextthe Church of St. James, committed suicide, by hanging himself with arope." [Footnote: The passage from Didymus is this: "Macilenti etmelancholici, qui binas pupillas in oculis habent, aut in uno oculo geminampupillam, in altero effigiem equi,--quique oculos concavos ac velutiquibusdam quasi foveis reconditos gerunt, exhaustoque adeo universo humoreut ossa,--quibus palpebrae coherent, eminere, hirquique sordibus scaterecernuntur,--quibus in tota cute quae faciem obducit squallor et situsimmoderatus conspicitur, facillime fascinant. Strabones, glaucos, micanteset terribiles oculos habentes quaecumque et iratis oculis aspiciunt fascinoinficiunt. Et _ego_ hisce oculis Romae quondam Hispanum genere vidi, quemnominare non licet, qui cum truculentis oculis tetro et irato vultu servumob nescio quod objurgasset, adeo servus ille timore ac terrore perterritusfuit, ut non modo fascino affectus, sed rationis usu privatus fuerit, etmelancholico humore totum ejus corpus invadente, ita ad insaniam redactusfuit, ut in domo sui heri prope ecclesiam Divi Jacobi sibi mortemconsciverit et laqueo vitam finiverit."]

_Moral_.--If you ever meet with such an agreeable person as this Spaniardappears to have been,--look out!

In this connection, the reader will recall the similar power of Vathek, inBeckford's romance, who killed with his eye,--and the story of Racine, whoma look of Louis XIV. sent to his grave.

The famous Albertus Magnus, master of medicine and magic, devotes a longchapter to the subject of eyes, giving us, at length, descriptions of thosewhich we may trust and those which we must fear, some of them terrible andvigorous enough. From among them I select the following:--"Those who havehollow eyes are noted for evil; and the larger and moister they are, themore they indicate envy. The same eyes, when dry, show the possessors to befaithless, traitorous, and sacrilegious; and if these eyes are also yellowand cold, they argue insanity. For hollow eyes are the sign of craft andmalignity; and if they are wanting in darkness, they also showfoolishness. But if the eyes are too hollow, and of medium size, dry andrigid,--if, besides this, they have broad, overhanging eyebrows, and lividand pallid circles round them, they indicate impudence and malignity."[Footnote: Albertus Magnus, _De Anima_.] If this be not enough to enableyou, O my reader, to recognise the Evil Eye at sight, let me refer you tothe whole chapter, where you will find ample and very curious rules laiddown, showing a singular acuteness of observation.

Things have, indeed, somewhat changed since the days of Didymus, in thisrespect, that men are now thought to be more potent for evil _jettatura_than women; but his general views still coincide with those entertained atthe present time in Italy. Ever since the establishment, or ratherdecadence, of the Church in the Middle Ages, monks have been considered aspeculiarly open to suspicion of possessing the Evil Eye. As long ago as theninth century, in the year 842, Erchempert, a _frate_ of the celebratedconvent of Monte Cassino, writes,--"I knew formerly Messer Landulf, Bishopof Capua, a man of singular prudence, who was wont to say, 'Whenever I meeta monk, something unlucky always happens to me during the day.'" And tothis day, there are many persons, who, if they meet a monk or priest, onfirst going out in the morning, will not proceed upon their errand orbusiness until they have returned to their house and waited awhile. In Romethere are certain persons who are noted for this evil power, and marked andavoided in consequence. One of them is a most pleasant and handsome man,attached to the Church, and yet, by odd coincidence, wherever he goes, hecarries ill-luck. If he go to a party, the ices do not arrive, the music islate, the lamps go out, a storm comes on, the waiter smashes his tray ofrefreshments,--something or other is sure to happen. "_Sentite_," said someone the other day to me. "Yesterday, I was looking out of my window, whenI saw ---- coming along. 'Phew!' said I, making the sign of the cross andpointing both fingers, 'what ill-luck will happen now to some poor devilthat does not see him?' I watched him all down the street, however, andnothing occurred; but this morning I hear, that, after turning the corner,he spoke to a poor little boy, who was up in a tree gathering some fruit,and no sooner was out of sight than smash! down fell the boy and broke hisarm." Even the Pope himself has the reputation of possessing the Evil Eye